In the North, at Winterfell, the banners of the black and gold stag and the grey and white Direwolf flew together.
Eddard Stark immediately noticed the King's change, and Ned couldn't help but sigh, "Time changes everything."
Fifteen years ago, when the stag and the wolf fought side by side for the throne, the Duke of Storm's End was a clean-shaven, clear-eyed, strapping man every maiden dreamed of.
He stood six feet five inches tall, like a towering giant, head and shoulders above everyone else.
Now, even compared to nine years ago, when they crushed King Balon, Robert had gained at least eight stone, his waist as astonishing as his height.
The King had always loved material pleasures and never denied himself anything.
Though a coarse, wire-like black beard now covered Robert's double chin, nothing could conceal his protruding belly and sunken dark circles under his eyes.
Duke Ned knelt in the snow and kissed the Queen's ring, while Robert embraced Catelyn as if she were his long-lost sister.
Then the children of the wolf and the stag were brought forward, formally introduced, and received the approval of both sets of parents.
Lady Catelyn's heart was filled with joy; she was born in the warmer Riverrun.
Catelyn also hoped the girls would find suitable marriages in the South, and this beautiful fantasy occupied her mind.
Outwardly, the King's "Children" were also comely and dignified.
Eddard's fantasies about marriage were much colder; people said the old gods protected House Stark, but the warm South was not House Stark's home, and the old gods had little influence in the South.
The South, to Eddard, meant bitterness and pain.
Sansa felt she was almost suffocating; the tall, handsome prince was indeed as she had imagined.
But Joffrey's appearance, with his lips upturned in what seemed like disdain for everything Northern, Sansa did not notice.
As soon as the formal greeting ceremony ended, Robert said, "Ned, take me to your family crypt.
I want to pay my respects."
Eddard loved this about him; after all these years, he still missed Lyanna.
"Everyone has been traveling since early morning, and now everyone is cold and tired.
They should rest a bit first; there's no need to rush to see the dead," Cersei suggested, but Robert merely looked at his wife with a cold gaze.
Cersei's twin brother, Jaime, quietly took Cersei's hand, and she said no more.
The spiral staircase leading to the crypt was very narrow, and Eddard held a lamp for his obese King, whom he barely recognized anymore.
The King complained as he descended the stairs.
"I thought we'd never reach Winterfell.
Living in the South for so long, hearing others talk about my Seven Kingdoms, it's easy to forget that your territory is almost as large as the other six combined."
"Your Majesty, I trust your journey was pleasant?"
Robert snorted, "All the way it was swamps, forests, and fields; after the Neck, I couldn't even find a decent inn.
I've never seen such a vast, desolate wasteland in my life.
Where have all your people hidden themselves?"
"Most are probably too shy to come out," Eddard quipped, feeling a chill sweep up from the crypt, like the cold breath of the deep earth.
"In the North, the King isn't seen every day."
As they walked and talked, Eddard had already noted the price the King paid for his indulgences.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the long darkness, the King was panting, struggling to breathe, his face flushed under the lamplight.
Eddard led the way, weaving through the passages between the stone pillars; the King shivered from the underground chill, following silently.
The House Stark crypts were very uniform; the deceased of each generation sat on stone thrones between stone pillars, their backs to the wall, leaning against stone coffins containing their remains.
According to tradition, the stone statues of past Lords of Winterfell all had iron longswords across their laps, to ensure that vengeful spirits full of hatred remained sealed in the tomb.
"Here," Eddard said to the King; they lingered in the cold, icy crypt, with the past Lords of Winterfell watching them, their tightly sealed stone coffin statues carved with their likenesses in life, and huge Direwolf stone carvings curled at their feet.
Robert nodded silently, knelt, and bowed his head.
Robert looked at the three stone coffins before him: Duke Rickard in the middle, with a stern, long face, flanked by his children, his heir Brandon, and his daughter Lyanna.
"All of this should have belonged to Brandon," Eddard thought.
Indeed, his elder brother was the heir, the firstborn, and the leader.
Alas, he died shortly before his marriage to Catelyn.
As for his sister, Eddard's heart was even more sorrowful.
His sister was only sixteen when she left, and the King's love for her was even greater; they were supposed to be married.
"She was much more beautiful than this," the King said after a moment of silence.
His gaze lingered on the face of the deceased, unwilling to leave.
But such a gaze could not bring the beauty of yesteryear back to the world of the living.
The King rose, his steps somewhat unsteady due to his corpulence.
"Damn it, Ned, was it really necessary to bury her in a place like this?" the King's voice grew hoarse with past pain.
"She shouldn't be among the shadows."
"She is of House Stark of Winterfell," Eddard said calmly.
"She belongs here."
The King remained deeply affected; she should have been buried on a beautiful hillside, with fruit trees planted over her grave.
"You didn't understand her," Eddard thought.
Lyanna seemed far less interested in Robert than he was in her; she had told Eddard that no matter how much Robert loved her, it wouldn't stop him from being unfaithful after marriage.
"I swore to kill Rhaegar to avenge her."
The King's fingers caressed the rough stone surface; Lyanna's face was cold, but the King was very gentle.
"You already killed him!"
"Only once," the King's words were filled with bitterness and anger.
"Every night in my dreams, I kill him again."
This was the King; he was a willful and self-centered man.
Even with Eddard's persuasion, he refused to humble himself for Cersei and leave early.
"Tell me about that Child," Eddard asked the King.
"Even in the North, we heard about that war, the fighting Across the Narrow Sea."
"The Child, the Child older than Joffrey..." Robert mumbled.
"You know, I don't know how many women I've slept with.
As for children, I remember even less.
But perhaps, perhaps there was such a Child, whose mother was a prostitute or a hostess, it's all possible?"
...Eddard remained silent; perhaps this was also the King's style.
"Don't look at me like that; a bastard is a mistake any man can make; you have one in your family too, fellow.
I just didn't expect my own retribution to come."
"You know, those children, Cersei never wanted them in the court," Robert shook his head.
"Perhaps it would have been better if I had given them some money then."
After the incident where Joffrey killed a cat, the King had considered bringing Mia into the palace, but Cersei had prevented it.
"And now?" Eddard asked the King.
"I think we should continue fighting, take up arms as we did nine years ago," Robert sighed.
"It's a sin; kinslaying is a bad name."
"Is there no other way?" Eddard asked.
"What way? You tell me to look away, just as you and Jon misled me back then, saying I shouldn't harm children."
Robert's lips twisted bitterly.
"When the Baratheon traitors and the spawn of the evil dragon have a bunch of children, many ambitious men will challenge me under their banners."
"I can't leave this trouble for Joffrey, it's much simpler to fight a brother than to fight one's own father," Robert mused.
"Is the situation so urgent?" Eddard asked.
"The people of Myr and Tyrosh are not short of money and have a fleet.
They used to only lack a capable army, but now it seems even that weakness is gone..." Robert analyzed for Eddard.
"It seems we must rekindle the fires of war," Eddard sighed.
"The perpetually sickly Duke of The Eyrie, only six years old, your nephew, you know him well.
I need you, my old friend..." Robert said with genuine emotion.
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